


Minuet

by ohmytheon



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Dancing, F/M, Fuhrer Roy Mustang, Gen, Jealous Roy, Original Character(s), Post-Canon, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-27
Updated: 2016-04-27
Packaged: 2018-06-04 22:39:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6678199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohmytheon/pseuds/ohmytheon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Roy Mustang has never enjoyed fancy military events, especially now that he's Fuhrer or when his time dancing with his wife keeps getting interrupted by everyone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Minuet

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so once again, I started out writing this for a different drabble, but it wasn’t going the way I wanted it to and I realized that I could work it into this prompt easily. Plus ,we all know how much fun I have writing jealous!Roy. Also, wow, this turned into a huge mess. I got too into this world I built. Technically speaking, this is the most post-canon I’ve written. It would be set maybe like half a year after my fic, “i would part the sea”, but that’s not necessary to read. The prompt was Roy/Riza + "Wait a minute. Are you jealous?"

One thing for sure hadn’t changed with Roy’s ascension to Fuhrer: he still despised any fancy military event. Although he had never been one to shy away from dressing up and well, he had never enjoyed these things. They were stuffy, facetious, and utterly superfluous. Even if it was a fundraising event, like the one for wounded veterans of the Ishval War or the one for families who had lost someone in the line of military duty, they were only for show. They wasn’t about helping other people. They were about showing off, being seen, and making connections.

Oh, sure, the first time he’d received an invitation in the mail to one of these functions, Roy had been ecstatic. After all, at the time, he’d only been recently promoted to Lieutenant-Colonel; at most there was usually only one or two Colonels sprinkled in here and there. He had thought it was a sure sign that he was going places and fast. It was only until he’d stepped into the large ballroom at the Armstrong mansion where the event was being held that he realized very fast that he hadn’t been invited for his merit.

No, instead, Roy had been there to be shown off, like a prized German Shepherd at a dog show. The way his superior officers had dragged him around the room by the elbow to speak with other people, not to introduce him, but to showcase their pride and glory, the Hero of Ishval. Women would “ooh” and “aw” at the tales he was prompted to tell while men carefully appraised him.

 _“Make it sound good,”_ one General had hissed in his ear while wearing a smile. And did he ever. Roy was a master storyteller - had been since he was a child. His mother had encouraged his imagination while she was alive and Madam Christmas and her girls had only enhanced his abilities.

It had made him sick. As one of the few State Alchemists to come out of the War seemingly unscathed for the most part, he became the military’s posterboy for the Program. The few others that had been invited hadn’t fared much better than him. His only relief had been that Kimblee was in jail and not able to flout his crimes like Roy and the others were forced to do. By the end of the night, after rounds of champagne and wine to drown out the screams in his head, he’d been so woozy that his sister and his “date”, Ellie, had been forced to drive him home and put him to bed.

That night seemed so far away to Roy now, but he always thought back to it every time he was at one of these events. He had worried that he would be the one forced to plan these things when he was Fuhrer, but it appeared as if that task belonged to a separate group in the military altogether. That had been a relief. Still, whenever he came to them, he was always reminded of that night, how unprepared he’d been, how uncomfortable, furious, and even scared. He’d been so young then. Twenty-four years-old and having already seen and perpetrated the horrors of war, and he’d been stopped cold by the clamoring hands of rich men and women and unfiltered greed from his superiors.

It apparently hadn’t gotten any better over the years. Fifteen years later, and Roy still couldn’t stand these functions, even now that he was the leader of the country and military.

As Fuhrer, he was unable to hide in the corner of the room as he used to do every now and then to get a breather. Roy lamented over the fact that he had been cursed with a natural ability to function at these events. Having grown up under Madam Christmas’ roof and then groomed by the then-General Grumman early in his military years, Roy could take the spotlight over anyone at these things. Even the people that hated him would gravitate towards him. He’d learned how to handle himself after that first event, putting on an elaborate mask to shield himself and deflect others. By the time he’d been promoted to Colonel, he was always invited to any event, because he always was able to bring in the most money for the military. Nobody could empty the deep pockets of the wealthy and elite like Roy Mustang.

It appeared as if he was cursed forever to deal with these things.

After spending fifteen minutes talking with a delegate from Creta about the newly created railroad to bridge the two countries, Roy shook hands with the man and politely excused himself. It was an exhausting routine. Just when he thought that he could find a moment’s worth of peace, someone else appeared before him. A delegate full of questions, a wealthy woman dying for a chance to dance with him, the frowning husband of said woman, one of his subordinates with news about who had arrived and who requested to speak with him… There was no end in sight. He’d even kept to his promise about not drinking anything, which was proving to be a pain in the ass. Everyone kept handing him drinks, like it might loosen his tongue and he’d say something he shouldn’t.

All he wanted, the only thing he was focused on right now, was finding his wife in this mess of people.

Months later and it still caused Roy’s heart to jump into his chest when he thought of Riza as his wife. There was no secret anymore. She was still his bodyguard, but had finally relented to letting others take her place for the most part. Havoc had gotten a kick out of that promotion, his wife Catalina not so much. But she still held him to the promise that they’d made all those years ago when he’d first put her on his team. No one could take that place from her. She was his conscience, after all. She was simply more now. She was his other half in truth and in full view of everyone. It felt great not having to hide such a large part of himself anymore.

However, as the recently minted First Lady of Amestris, Riza was going through her own struggles as well. Unlike him, she had never been used to the limelight - in fact, it had been an unspoken part of her job to make sure that she stayed out of it - and she was finding things to be rather difficult. People that had once pointedly ignored her made every attempt to speak with her. Women that had once sneered at her now fought to be at her side, ask her out for lunch, question her about everything from clothes to home life with Roy and their son. Men that had looked down on her or only thought of her as the eye candy standing behind Roy now were forced to reckon with her as something else entirely. All in all, it had made the once unflappable Riza, well, flappable.

Presently, Riza was surrounded by a mixed group of people. There was one of the delegates from Drachma, a surly-looking man whose grey gaze looked like it could pierce a bullet-proof vest. Two women, one an attractive older woman who he believed was married to Lieutenant-General Tigh, and the other a few years younger than Riza, a stunning brunette named Wyla, the granddaughter of General Moore. There was a dark-haired man who Roy didn’t recognize but looked quite wealthy and then General Denton, a very handsome and now youngest General since Roy’s promotion. Roy didn’t like that or the way the man was smiling at his wife.

To top the strange group off was General Olivier Armstong herself, which amused Roy a little.  It looked to Roy as if she was defending Riza of all things, standing at her side just an inch ahead as she shot her patented glowers at the Drachma delegate, Wyla, and Denton. Unlike Riza, who was no longer in the military, Armstrong was wearing her full uniform, ceremonial sword and everything, and looked quite fierce. Riza, on the other hand,  was wearing a beautiful sleeveless green gown that covered her back and had a raised collar,  but left her collarbones and front of neck exposed. He’d bought it for her after she had idly pointed out that she didn’t have anything to wear to the event. She was quite the sight.

“Ah, there’s my darling wife,” Roy said teasingly as he came up from behind her and wrapped his arms around her. To think, he was actually holding her in public for everyone to see! How could anyone ever take this for granted? Riza almost started in his grasp, but relaxed immediately upon hearing his voice. He could feel the relief pouring from her at his arrival. “Would you all mind terribly if I steal her away from you for a moment?”

The group assented and watched with carefully guarded expressions as Roy pulled Riza away from them. He slipped his arms away from her and then grasped one of her hands, their fingers threading together perfectly. He felt like he was sixteen years-old again, holding Riza’s hand while they walked through town without her father to see, except now everyone was around them and he didn’t care.

Armstrong followed them for a few steps, her glare somehow intensifying as she gazed at him and growled, “You left her to these wolves, Mustang! That Drachman can’t be trusted, Wyla Moore even less so. And Denton is an absolute scoundrel!”

“Worse than me?” Roy asked, a cheeky grin on his face.

“Second only to you,” Armstrong bit back.

“I can take care of myself, you know,” Riza pointed out dryly.

That seemed to bring Armstrong to a halt. “Of course you can, Hawkeye.” There was not a hint of mockery in her tone to suggest that she was belittling Riza. From the way her gaze actually softened as she looked at Riza, Roy could tell that she meant every word. Then a scowl crossed her face. “But you don’t know these people like I do. They’re nothing but monsters, all too willing to drag you down, smile to your face, and degrade you behind their back.” Her eyes flickered to Roy for a second, an almost considering expression crossing her face. “Or perhaps you do.”

With the appropriate amount of insults having been said, Armstrong bid them a good night - or, well, Riza - and even saluted to Roy before turning on her heels and leaving them alone. The grin never left Roy’s face, even when she had compared him to the same horrid people that they were surrounded by. She wasn’t really wrong. There was a reason Roy was able to glide through these galas so easily; he was able to become one of these people. Besides, it was just too much fun to get under Armstrong’s skin. Not even trumping her in rank could end their rivalry and he wouldn’t have it any other way. He liked that she treated him the same as ever. It made her reliable and trustworthy.

“Would you perchance like to dance?” Roy asked.

“We haven’t done that since the wedding,” Riza said thoughtfully. Their second wedding, at least, had gone smoothly, although on a much more subdued and smaller scale. The first one…he tried not to think about that.

Roy stood back to hold out a hand and bow to her, just as he had done the first time they’d ever danced together when they were teenagers and he distracted her from studying. “Then I’ve been sorely lacking in my husbandly duties.”

With something of a shy smile on her face, Riza took his hand and allowed him to pull her onto the dance floor where a few other couples were dancing together. With his grace, they were able to ingratiate themselves onto the floor without interrupting any of the other couples. He’d never lost his ability to dance with age. It had only seemed to better. He knew that she still felt a little clumsy, but with her hand in his and his other on her hip, he was able to guide her through all the steps. He didn’t even need to look around to avoid anyone; all he had eyes for was her.

A whistle to her left caught their attention and they caught sight as Havoc swung by dancing with a woman that looked to be as old as his grandmother and draped in pearls. He gave Roy a wink and a wolfish grin before saying charmingly to the woman, “My, Mrs. Malorey, you’re as graceful as a ballerina!” He did cut a nice figure in his uniform, glowing brightly in blue in a sea of the mostly black and white affair. The old woman actually giggled as she swatted him on the chest. Havoc hated these things, but he was always in high spirits when free food was available.

Roy and Riza danced through two songs together before he noticed something dreadful. There was Fuery standing to the side, carrying a folder and looking sheepish. The sight of him signaled the end of Roy’s fun. He had been running communication between all the people that Roy needed to speak to and see tonight, somehow managing to schedule them in without making it look like he was scheduling. He looked more than slightly harassed, his glasses a bit askew, and Roy could tell that he’d held off for as long as he could so Roy and Riza could have a moment together. Before he could say anything, Riza had already started to stop and was walking towards Fuery. Of course she’d seen him and knew what that meant.

“I’m sorry, sir,” Fuery sighed, “but General Moore insisted that he needs to speak with you.”

“Of course he did,” Roy grumbled under his breath. When Fuery gave him an abashed look, Roy smiled and shook his head. “It’s not your fault that that man refuses to die or retire and is trying to kill me by annoying me.”

Riza squeezed his hand. She was still somewhat uncomfortable with overt public displays of affection and he never minded how reserved she was in public when she most certainly wasn’t in private. “Be good.”

“Hey, you can’t talk to me like that anymore,” Roy quipped. “I’m the Fuhrer now.”

“Still a Dog of the Military, aren’t you?” Riza teased.

“Technicalities.” Roy waved a hand at Fuery. “Lead the way.”

Talking with General Moore proved to be, as usual, the most aggravating thing in the world. Much like Armstrong, he hadn’t changed his behavior with Roy either upon his promotion, but it came off more as insubordinate and rude. He didn’t like Roy - hadn’t liked him since he first laid eyes on his name in the reports from Ishval apparently - and there was nothing Roy could do to change that. The two of them had butted heads for as long as Roy could remember to the point where violence had nearly occurred. It wasn’t pretty. He hadn’t been happy with Roy taking Grumman’s place as Fuhrer, but it was obvious from his temperament and derogatory comments that he’d never go further than this.

Twenty minutes into what was little more than Roy listening as calmly as he could while Moore berated him for every little thing he could think of (including the type of champagne that was being served), Roy couldn’t stand it anymore. To his side, Fuery was becoming increasingly jittery, probably because he could feel the tension rolling off of Roy in waves. His face was beginning to hurt from attempting to look so attentive. He was beginning to wish that the man would say anything, do anything, that Roy could call him out for, but he always veered right when he was at the edge. It was maddening and too much for Roy to handle without any alcohol in him.

“If you’ll excuse me, General Moore,” Roy said as delicately as possible, “I believe Lieutenant-Colonel Havoc is trying to hail me. It could be nothing or something important.”

He didn’t even wait to listen to Moore say anything in response. He could’ve called him “Fuhrer” for once instead of “sir” and Roy wouldn’t have even cared. He slipped away as quickly as possible, Fuery hot on his tails so that he would not get stuck dealing with Moore or his complaints, and headed in the direction of Havoc, who was leaning idly on a pillar and watching the people dance. The second he spotted Roy and Fuery heading towards him, he straightened up and saluted him.

“At ease, Lieutenant-Colonel,” Roy sighed.

Havoc eyed him for a second. “I’m going to guess you just spoke with Moore.”

Roy glowered at him. “Is Riza giving you lessons in reading my mind?”

“No one pisses you off quite like him,” Havoc pointed out with a smirk. “That and he’s glaring daggers at your back. I’d watch out for him if I were you, boss.”

“I’m quite aware that he’d like me to be dead,” Roy said indifferently. Already his mind was on something else. He wanted to find Riza again. He’d hoped that she would be with Havoc after he left her on the dance floor - she had almost always stuck with him when Roy dragged the two of them as his bodyguards to these events - but it appeared as if she was elsewhere. His eyes scanned the room quickly until he finally spotted her.

There Riza was, looking absolutely gorgeous, dancing with General Denton.

Roy stopped cold as he stared at the two of them. They made quite a pair. Denton sandy blonde hair was parted and slicked to the side and he looked clean-cut and handsome in his uniform. He was the type of man that made the uniform look more dressy than it was; it fit him extremely well. He smiled winningly, gazing at her with deep blue eyes, and spoke low enough so that he had to lean close to her. She seemed at ease in his arms, smiling faintly in return, and glided through the dance as gracefully as she did with Roy. She even laughed at something Denton said and a proud look crossed his face.

It was enough to make Roy want to chuck a champagne glass at the wall.

Havoc arched an eyebrow up at him. “You okay, boss?” Fuery, once again, began to fidget as he shuffled the papers in his hands and then fixed his glasses. Roy did his best to ignore the both of them. Because of his staring, Havoc was able to quickly follow his gaze and spotted the source of Roy’s irritation. And then he proceeded to guffaw loudly.

Roy almost slapped him on the arm and instead scowled at him. “What are you laughing at, Lieutenant-Colonel?”

“Wait a minute!” Havoc continued to laugh, barely able to speak. “Are you _jealous_?”

“What?” Roy harrumphed and folded his arms across his chest. “That’s preposterous.”

“Oh, shit, you are!” Havoc sighed and shook his head. “After all this time, even now, the second another man puts their eyes on Riza, you go into a silent, fuming, homicidal rage.”

“He’s doing more than putting his eyes on her,” Roy snapped, unable to stop himself.

Havoc snorted. “I don’t think you have to worry, sir. She may have only been your wife for a few months, but she’s only ever belonged with you.”

The three men watched as Riza extricated herself from Denton once the song ended. It appeared as if he was trying to convince her to dance with him again, this time to a slower song, but she shook her head and said something to him that made Denton look almost mournful and bow to kiss her on the hand. It made Roy want to puke. Oh, he knew that he was acting immature, especially for a thirty-nine year-old husband and father, but he couldn’t help himself. Armstrong had been right: Denton was a scoundrel. Roy would have to watch out for him to see what his game was.

With her cheeks a little flushed from all the dancing, Riza stepped up to them and immediately kissed Roy. It was something of a shock since she rarely kissed him in public, but it was exactly what he needed. All the tension and irritation that had been bubbling up inside of him flowed away. When she stepped back and connected eyes, he knew that she’d done it on purpose. Of course she’d seen the what he looked like and knew exactly what to do to fix it. They smiled at one another.

At their side, Havoc coughed and ruined the moment. “Riza, I’m going to have to ask you to refrain from dancing with any other men besides your husband this evening, lest you want a murder or political fiasco to occur.”

Riza hummed as she took hold of one of Roy’s hands. “Is that so?” While Roy tried not to blush, Havoc began to snicker and then ushered Fuery away towards the buffet table so that the two of them could be alone again. Placing a gentle hand on the side of his face, she looked up at him. “You weren’t jealous, were you?”

“Of course not,” Roy insisted. It was a pitiful attempt to lie that she was able to see through immediately.

“You don’t need to worry,” Riza told him. “You know that I’ll always come home to you.” He knew that - he would never doubt her on that - but it was hard for him not to grasp hold of her so tightly when he had been deprived of her and denied her for so long. Of course other men would see just how amazing she was. “Besides, you’re a much better dancer than Denton.”

Roy grinned smugly. Yes, Riza knew exactly what to say and do to make him feel better, even at one of these stupid functions that he hated so much.


End file.
